


For Bluer Skies

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the most part, John accepted this as part of living with Sherlock. He knew what he signed up for; in fact it was the reason he stayed. The excitement, the adrenaline: it was what he needed to breath. It brought him back to life, and he was grateful for it, even if there were a few too many close calls then he cared to think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Bluer Skies

Putting criminals behind bars comes with a price, one that John and Sherlock have come close to paying far too often for either of their liking. It happened when John was mistaken for Sherlock by a dangerous Chinese underground smuggling organization, and it happened when they broke into a house and encountered American mobsters who threatened to shoot him--and that was hardly the beginning. For the most part, John accepted this as part of living with Sherlock. He knew what he signed up for; in fact it was the reason he stayed. The excitement, the adrenaline: it was what he needed to breath. It brought him back to life, and he was grateful for it, even if there were a few too many close calls then he cared to think about. It never worried him, though, not really. Deep down John knew Sherlock was the smartest, most clever person he ever knew, and he would never fail. Nothing would ever happen to them because Sherlock always had a plan, and John trusted him with his life (even if he sometimes doubted if Sherlock kept him around because he cared, or if he just needed a replacement for his skull).  
  
Then came Moriarty, and John was strapped to a bomb, and this time it was different. This time John witness what probably no one else had ever seen: Sherlock lose his composure. If he didn’t know Sherlock, he would have thought he was just as calm, collected, and self assured as he always was. But he knew Sherlock, and he knew that for possibly the first time in his life, Sherlock doubted himself. Not just doubted, but was scared. Scared of losing John (someone he cared about) or scared of being beaten (for once, he may not be the cleverest person in the room), John could never tell. But still, he felt gratified to be the one who was able to see this side of Sherlock, who came the closest to this person, even if said person behaved more like a machine than a human being. John always valued human intimacy, and in a society where people throw love and friendship and trust around like it was nothing but cheap currency, he sees his strange companionship with Sherlock as something that was more pure than ordinary relationships--something that held truth. At least, that is what he tells himself when he is feeling generous.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
When Sherlock came back after three years, after having fooled everyone into thinking he was dead, John was able to forgive him. Not at first, but John prided himself on being a reasonable person, and he saw reason in Sherlock’s actions. He knew it was to protect him, and the other people he cared about. So Sherlock jumped backed into his life just as he had jumped out of it, and John could forgive the pain he caused, even if he could not forget. He tried, he really did, to understand that Sherlock did not feel things the way other people did, that it would be useless to stay angry or upset with him, because it suddenly seemed stupid and foolish. Maybe he just didn’t want Sherlock to write it off his grief as boring and useless sentiment (as he did every other emotion). He couldn’t handle that--not now, not ever. He kept a lot of things from Sherlock, come to think of it.  
  
John had long since come to terms with the fact that Sherlock was more important to him, and meant more to him, than anybody else he knew (discounting familial obligation--which he did, considering his relationship with his parents and sister were perfunctory at best). All too often he felt himself feel like a pining teenager who had a crush on a much cooler, smarter, more beautiful girl who he never had a chance with in a million years. Of course he knew this was ridiculous, because it wasn’t like he was attracted to Sherlock (he was straight, after all). But he couldn’t help but desperately hope that Sherlock cared about him, needed him, as much as he did in return. Because he didn’t know what he would do if Sherlock saw him as something disposable, something to let go of once his purpose was fulfilled and he was of no more use.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
When Sherlock was gone--dead, supposedly--it was all too easy for John to project his own feelings onto his memories of Sherlock (that John was the center of his universe, just as Sherlock was the center of John’s). He couldn’t help it, his brain just ran away with the idea that Sherlock secretly felt the way he himself did about Sherlock. It was nothing sexual, just a deep, inherent connection that he never was able to experience with any other person. His subconscious could not deal with that feeling being entirely one-sided. It had to mean something, it had to be there, even if it was never acknowledged and they never talked about it. John felt it too strongly not to believe that Sherlock had experienced it, too. That was easy to say to himself when all he had left of Sherlock were his memories. And memories are much too easy to skew to what a person desires, so that before long it can stray far away from the truth.  
  
By the time of Sherlock’s return, John had built up his imaginary relationship with Sherlock into something much greater than anything they ever had in reality, and the realization was startling. He couldn’t stand being practically strangers--starting anew--with someone with whom he wanted (once had, he thought) something much, much more. He couldn’t deal with all these unspoken emotions anymore, didn’t know if he could hide it any longer. But he realized, now more than ever, that to Sherlock he was just an outlier, something convenient, something that allowed “the work” to functional at optimal. John was a big boy; he could deal with his stupid “sentiment” like a rational adult, and maintain his friendship with Sherlock, because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand to lose, it was that. Not when he just got it back.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Suddenly it felt to John as though every interaction with Sherlock was infused with a sense of tension that was never there before. He had a feeling it was because his subconscious attraction to Sherlock was now pulled to the forefront of his mind.  
  
It didn’t help that his brain was now supplied with situations where Sherlock chose to act on his new-found desires. John was not gay by any means, but apparently he was more flexible than he thought, because more and more he was getting used to the idea of becoming intimate with Sherlock. It started off platonic, because his mind naturally did not go to that territory. Now, he realized, he wouldn’t exactly mind having sex with Sherlock. The idea was strange at first, because he always considered himself straight; he had always been attracted to women, and never considered the idea of being with a man. Maybe he was discovering his latent bisexuality, but it didn’t feel like that. It wasn’t about men, it was about Sherlock.  
  
Somehow he was fixated on this man--mentally, spiritually, and now, apparently, sexually. There was no part of Sherlock that didn’t fit perfectly into John’s life, and John knew he was in far too deep to back out, to step away and move on. He had to accept his nonsexual relationship with Sherlock, and learn to be satisfied with everything else he had with him. Sometimes he could be overcome with warm, fuzzy feelings thinking about what a perfect companionship he had, and how lucky he was to be able to find a connection with someone that was so much stronger and more powerful than anything people experienced in their safe, mundane lives.  
  
Other times he just became horny and frustrated, because Sherlock could be a right wanker sometimes.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
It was on one of these occasions, not long after forgiving Sherlock and moving back in together at baker street, that John began to suspect that his feelings might be returned (at least in part) by the self-diagnosed sociopath. Yeah, maybe that was a bit of wishful thinking, but he really thought he had evidence this time, not just his head skewing perceptions yet again.  
  
It happened right after a case, not a few months after Sherlock and John got back to solving cases together, slipping into the routine like putting an old shoe. Thus far they had only taken trivial, safe (boring) cases, which john suspected Sherlock did on purpose, as a way to build back comfort and trust, instead of putting them immediately at risk again after all that happened.  
  
Perhaps because it was too soon after his fake suicide, or perhaps because Sherlock had not anticipated it, but when John once again came into mortal danger (a gun pointed to his head, but this time there were luckily no bombs threatening to blow them up), Sherlock left the whole ordeal in a decidedly nasty strop. It was, without a doubt, the worse mood John had ever seen him in, and he remembered them all very clearly. It confused John, because he saw nothing particularly upsetting about the encounter; if anything, it gave him a sorely-missed dose of adrenaline that he had been craving for such a long time.  
  
John decided he should have it out with his flatmate to see if he could solve this little problem. If anything, he wanted to understand what was going on it that magnificent mind to bother it so much. And, just maybe, part of him wanted to see whether the imminent threat of danger to his person had in any way contributed to Sherlock’s harried state of mind.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
John rushed after Sherlock into the rain, holding his shabby jacket over his head in a vain attempt to protect his already sodden head. He peered through the darkness of the dingy lane to see Sherlock illuminated by a nearby street lamp, a cigarette held between his fingers and flicking restless to and from his mouth. Unlike John, Sherlock took no protection from the drizzle, instead letting his damp hair flatten to his forehead, somehow making the trails of water running down his face appear graceful. Truly, he looked like some struggling romantic hero more suited to the poetry of Lord Byron than real life. John was entirely started by this anomaly, not quite sure what to make of this new (seemingly) emotional side of Sherlock.  
  
It sort of made his stomach flip, and definitely made his heart swell. Sherlock, in his usual all-seeing manner, knew what John was going to ask before it was even spoken.  
  
“Please don’t ask me to discuss feelings,” he spat out the last word, “Dreadful. Dull. Go back inside where it is warm, and less wet.”  
  
John leveled his best stern look at Sherlock. “Look, I know you aren’t used to dealing with emotions, much less having to talk about them, but in my my experience it does help if one is able to discuss them.” He was really afraid; he had never seen Sherlock this shaken since the Baskerville case. God help him, he didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t get to the bottom of this immediately.  
  
They were both quiet as Sherlock took a nervous drag from his cigarette and ran his fingers through his rain-soaked hair.  
  
“You were in danger, and I wasn’t sure if I could save you. Normally... I know everything there is to know about a situation, I notice everything, but sometimes the unexpected happens that I am not prepared for. And I can’t take that risk...” he trailed off, not able to say exactly what he was thinking.  
  
“You’re afraid of putting my life in danger? Sherlock, that is a perfectly reasonable response, there’s nothing to be upset over. Though honestly I don’t know why that should become a problem now, when I've been risking my life the whole time I’ve worked with you. Willingly, I might add--cured my limp, remember?”  
  
“It’s different this time, I realized that... you matter, John. More than you give yourself credit for. I don’t want to lose you. It was bad enough being away from you this long.” Sherlock rushed through his words as if they were painful to get out, and inhaled deeply after he finished. They stayed in silence for a moment, neither looking at each other but instead concentrating on the dark sky above them.  
  
John’s heart skipped and stuttered at Sherlock’s admittance--it was more that he had hoped for--but he knew Sherlock was uncomfortable, so he took a moment to carefully choose how he was going to respond. He felt as if his whole future hinged on this moment, and he knew he couldn’t screw this up.  
  
“I’ll always be there, by your side. No amount of danger is going to put me off. We can take smaller case, some less menacing ones, if you like. We’ll get back into the swing of things, I promise.” He knew this wouldn’t address their problems, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He got up and gently placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder before turning to walk back to the flat.  
  
If anything, John just received confirmation that he was something important to the great Sherlock Holmes, so he considered himself pretty well chuffed. Maybe his relationship with Sherlock wasn’t as one-sided and biased as he had thought.  
  
As he left Sherlock standing in the darkening street to sort out his thoughts, hopefully reassured by John’s calm acceptance, he felt as though he could verily die a well-contented man if this was all he had.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
John had always been curious about Sherlock’s sexual history, ever since he declared that relationships and sex were merely transport, and that he engaged in neither. The whole debacle with Irene Adler confirmed Sherlock’s “virgin” status, and John didn’t understand why someone as inquisitive and experimental as sherlock never bothered to at least try something that was so essential to human nature. It made him sad to think Sherlock had no friends, and was so removed from the rest of the human race, that he shunned basic human activities (including eating and sleeping on many occasions).  
  
The issue of Sherlock virginity never came up after Irene, and John wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Sherlock, he knew, would profess not to care about how others saw him, and scoff at the value people attributed to useless things such as “transport”. However, he wasn’t sure if it was actually a sore area underneath it all, because Mycroft had made snide remarks, and both Irene Adler and Moriarty used this apparent weakness in an attempt to get under his skin. But John reminded himself that Sherlock didn’t always think by societal standards.  
  
Then a case came up that brought the subject back into the spotlight.  
  
John had finally given over to the fact that his relationship with Sherlock was more intimate than it should be, and eventually stopped denying it. In fact, if Sherlock should decide on a whim that he should like to drop directly into John’s lap and kiss him right then and there, he was sure he would not object. At this point he would go along with anything, and follow wherever Sherlock led. That was what their relationship had been about all along, and John was now used to constantly redefining the limit of how close two people can be, that it had long since ceased being awkward.  
  
The case was pleasantly intriguing, involving a conniving adulteress and the promise of illicit seduction. Sherlock, of course, with his all-seeing gaze, knew exactly what was going on (and between which people). John had always been curious about how someone who had no experience with sex was so knowledgeable on the subject.  
  
“Sex is an integral part of human behavior and a prime motivator of crime. It would be stupid of me to ignore it, ” Sherlock replied when John worked up enough courage to ask him about it.  
  
“Sorry, but I just don’t see how somebody with zero working knowledge of sex, and without any experience or first-hand data, can accurately deduce everything about people’s sex lives.”  
  
“John,” Sherlock huffed impatiently, “You know how I work: I specialize in collecting data necessary for my work, and nothing more. Everything else is trivial and of little consequence. Personal experience would merely be transitory, and a colossal waste of time and brain functioning. Unlike you people, I have better things to do with my time.”  
  
John sighed, resigning himself to be lumped in with the rest of the mindless drove that Sherlock considered to be the rest of society. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like: in more recent years Sherlock had grown so accustomed to John that he often forgot to explain his reasoning, and John was left trying to catch up. He took this as a sign of respect, though he knew he could never be his equal. As a result, John took advantage of whatever gaps were in Sherlock’s knowledge.  
  
“You never once wanted to try it, just to see what it was like? I don’t suppose you’d take into account that experiencing something is a lot different than reading about it, or observing it...” The thought made John uncomfortable. Sherlock noticed everything, and he had no sense of boundaries. He cleared his head before his mind could wander too far in that direction--Sherlock was not a sexual being, he reminded himself. There was no reason to assume he had some voyeuristic kink, or other strange deviant proclivities. If he was honest with himself, John was glad Sherlock had no interest in sex, because if he did, he would be having to face a serious sexual identity crisis. Sherlock had turned everything in John’s life upside down, and it appeared that his sexuality was no less a subject of redefinition.  
  
“I am a doctor, I understand the need to clinically analyze something, but there are many things involved in sex, and human relationships, that science can’t explain or describe. You have to feel them for yourself to be able to interpret and evaluate them in others.”  
  
Sherlock was quiet, internally contemplating what was being said, and John hoped at least some of what he said was able to get through. Sherlock was nothing if not adaptable, able to change his methods when new information arose, even if he was often too stubborn to admit when he was wrong.  
  
“You’re right,” he said, surprising John, “in part. But my lack of expertise in that particular area has never debilitated my process of deduction or my ability to solve crimes revolving around sexual relationships, as you saw in our recent case. The other aspects of relationships that you speak of--love and emotion--I have no use for. And you’re wrong: I have experienced them, or something very much like them, once. With Irene Adler. I have found they are more simple than people make them out to be. Chemicals that alter the mind and our perception of reality, I know all about that. Science can explain everything to a developed mind; I have no use for resorting to primitive logic of the supernatural and religious.”  
  
John groaned inwardly. He should have known Sherlock would be too hard-headed to listen to him. He was tired of Sherlock behaving like an overgrown toddler.  
  
“Fine, don’t listen to me,” he said, getting up out of the chair. “Believe it or not, I was just trying to help you. Most people find close relationships to be rewarding, and it doesn’t always have to involve sex...” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I suppose I was simply wondering if there was anything that bothered you, something that held you back from getting close to people. You purposely drive people away, and one day you may end up regretting that. I know you claim or be a sociopath, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need people.” He stood to rest his hands on the back of his chair, looking down to avoiding meeting Sherlock’s penetrating stare. “You need me,” he said, to reiterate his point before finally looking up to catch Sherlock’s response.  
  
For the first time in all the years that John knew him, Sherlock wasn’t able to hold his gaze, and suddenly he felt extremely uncomfortable. He knew he shouldn’t be confronting Sherlock about these things, and normally they avoided these types of deep discussions, but John could often feel so connected to this man that he forgets himself and few the boundaries they carefully constructed between themselves. He left the room to start the kettle boiling, and to leave the situation before it became too awkward.  
  
If there was one thing they did not discuss, it was John’s feelings for Sherlock. He would always ask John why it mattered to him what other people thought, or why he was bothered by how he treated others.  After all, it didn't affect him personally. John never said “because I care about you, you daft prick,” because he didn’t know how to say it without sounding silly, and he wasn't sure Sherlock would understand, anyway.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Sherlock’s lack of regard for personal space was yet another curious factor that seemed out of character for Sherlock. John had long since given up hope for any semblance of heterosexuality due to Sherlock’s habit of casual contact that seemed more appropriate for a married couple. He wondered if Sherlock was even aware he was doing this, or if he just did it automatically without thinking about why. He could be so clueless about emotions, even his own, that he could very well not even identify his own need to touch and feel connection with another human being. Or, more likely, he knew exactly what was going on but decided it was a pointless distraction to be ignored like every other basic human necessity.  
  
For the most part, John put up with fishing things out of Sherlock’s pockets, or being manhandled in unnecessary ways, just as he put up with everything else he did. Usually, this did nothing more than put him slightly out of his comfort zone, which was fine, really. But sometimes he wondered how far Sherlock would take it before he realized exactly how inappropriate his behavior was, or worse: how it affected John.  
  
John had done a fair number of crazy things in the name of “science, John!”, and put up with Sherlock’s maniacal need to perform his inane experiments for cases. However, there were certain times he crossed the line. After their unproductive discussion of Sherlock’s sex life (or lack thereof), it didn’t help matters when he decide to take on a case involving a supposed rape victim. Apparently there was something interesting about the case, despite it’s apparently straightforward nature, which was why Sherlock decided to take it on. He did always love those ones.  
  
Unfortunately for John, this involved being positioned into various suggestive positions as Sherlock decided how exactly the bruises were formed on the body, and if it coincided with his theory. Normally John would have protested (he did have to draw the line somewhere, even if it seemed to be forever pushed further and further back). But after his awkward confrontation with Sherlock about his supposed virginity, he decided he should just keep his mouth shut and let Sherlock work without protest, instead of explaining once again the inappropriateness of the situation. Not that ever it did him any good to begin with.  
  
As with everything involving casework, Sherlock was lost in his one-track mind, ignoring everything outside the detailed intake of new and relevant data. But that thought did little to comfort John, who tried desperately to reel in his scattered thoughts as they unwound to picture the many possible variations this situation could go wrong, what Sherlock might make him do next, and what conclusions he might draw if his gaze wavered for one second to take in every reaction John was producing. He reminded himself that very likely Sherlock saw nothing sexual in pushing close to John, allowing himself more physical contact than John had ever seen him engage in, with anyone.  
  
What he wasn’t sure of, however, was how oblivious Sherlock would remain as to John’s condition, or how he would react once this revelation came to light. It wasn’t as if the situation was particularly erotic: although Sherlock’s body was pressed up against his, his mouth and breath almost close enough to feel, his mind and movements were mechanical, merely intent on recreating the scenario of the case. This did not help John, who could not help but think of what people in their position were usually up to.  
  
“Sh-Sherlock, we need to stop,” he said, having to put a stop to things before his body’s reaction became all too apparent. He didn’t care if Sherlock could already read the signs of arousal in his eyes, he didn’t need the humiliation of an erection to add to his suffering. He wondered how he would respond to just blatant signs of John’s arousal... probably observe it detachedly and then proceed to ignore it in favor of more interesting factors, John thought distantly. Would it come as a surprise, or had he known all along?  
  
Sherlock pulled back, finally taking in all of John. “Oh, you’re... I see.” It was a rare occasion that the great Sherlock Holmes was made speechless, and he can’t say the honor was entirely lost of him, though it was the expense of his embarrassment. Sherlock appeared to back away and decide to ignore the issue. “That’s enough data for now. Thank you for your... assistance,” he said, oddly stiff and formal. Something about his actions seemed off to John--not just that he avoided his eyes and backed off, but that he had no sarcastic or caustic remarks. Nothing to brush off John’s human (boring) response, or even to continue on with the experiment until he was thoroughly satisfied, regardless of John’s comfort.  
  
What did this mean? He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or scared. Could it be that John had read Sherlock wrong this whole time? Maybe his reaction meant more to Sherlock than he ever let on. One thing was for sure: they couldn’t go back to how it was before, now that things were out in the open. He could only wait and see how Sherlock would proceed.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Several days had passed since the uneasy confrontation between the doctor and detective, and so far neither of them chose to outright acknowledge what had just happened. Life at 221b went on almost as usual (or as usual as things got when Sherlock Holmes was involved, at any rate), but there was a discernible tension that John could not ignore. For the most part they simply orbited around each other like a pair of celestial bodies, keeping a carefully selected distance from one another and limiting their conversion to mundane and circumspect. Eventually John began to wonder if they were just going to pretend nothing ever happened.  Perhaps that was for the best.  
  
He was mostly fine with this, as he was not one to add extra conflict to his already heavy burden. He couldn’t help but feel, however, that it was merely a front put on to avoid the inevitable--a deceptive calm that appeared before the storm arrived. But until then, John figured he could bask in the temporary peace that currently presided over Baker Street.  
  
It was a placid, quiet day when Sherlock swept in the door. John was planted peacefully in his chair, enjoying an excellent cup of his favorite Earl Grey tea and the absence of a certain whirlwind genius. When he looked up to see Sherlock enter, he was struck by the image he made--flushed cheeks, hair wild, and breath panting, presumably from a thrilling and no doubt incriminating chase across London. In that moment Sherlock was utterly human, a being controlled by chemicals and stimulation, and John didn’t stop himself when stood and walked over to him, kissing Sherlock before he could think better of it.  
  
The kiss was awkward and unexpected, but they both relaxed as they adjusted to the new sensations, and it became so much better. John let all his deep-rooted need and devotion come across, so different than any other kiss he had ever experienced. He finally pulled back, because Sherlock was much too dazed to push away. He waited until he opened his eyes and gradually came back to his senses.  
  
“Think you can make an exception to that no-relationships rule?” he asked quietly, not wanting to jinx the moment.  
  
“I’ve never seen the point... people always hate me in the end. Love never lasts--that’s just an invention of society to appeal to ordinary minds,” Sherlock replied, sounding a little breathless. “I’ve never been in a relationship with someone,” he continued stiltedly. “I’ve never had a friend until you. You are the exception to most everything, it would seem.” And John could see in that rare genuine smile, in the way Sherlock was at ease and no longer at war with himself or the world around, that he truly was something special.  
  
“Want to give it a go, then?” he asked, teasingly. He already knew the answer.  
  
“God, yes.” Sherlock’s answering smile was blinding.  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction.


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